


Prada Kedavra

by rubikanon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, F/F, POV Narcissa Black Malfoy, POV Third Person Limited, Romance, The AU no one asked for, crackish, i hear you out there going "third person oh thank god", oh wait those lovable goblins on tumblr asked for it, tropey goodness, you can blame them for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-05-27 09:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15021818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubikanon/pseuds/rubikanon
Summary: Narcissa Black is editor-in-chief ofBlacklist, the premier fashion magazine for British witches, in need of a new second assistant. She's tried hiring the stylish, airheaded pureblood girls and always ends up disappointed. Maybe it's time to take a chance on the smart, slouchy mudblood.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here because you liked my first fic, throw out alllll your expectations because this is silly, sometimes crackish fun written to relax from the stress of grad school :D Suggestions and feedback welcome here or on [Tumblr](https://rubikanon.tumblr.com), including criticism (especially if delivered Miranda-style. I might fall for you). Updates will be irregular (no I really mean it this time!), but rest assured this is just the beginning with a lot more shenanigans ahead.

Narcissa Black looked up as a well-known witch approached her office on the top floor of the Elphias-Clark building. Potter’s little friend, Herninny Granger or something like that. There was no conceivable reason why the mudblood would come see her, and an interruption was the last thing she needed today. What she needed was more tea, something her second assistant would have brought by now if the coward hadn’t quit in tears after a minor mauling at a forest-themed photoshoot five days before.

“Did you wander in off the street?” Narcissa asked, lip curling in displeasure.

Granger hunched her shoulders a little but held her ground. “I’m Hermione Granger, as you know. I graduated this month, top of my class.” She slipped a paper onto the desk already piled high with rejected photographs and past issues.

Unimpressed, Narcissa barely glanced at the Hogwarts transcript. If Draco hadn’t been so heavily burdened with the Dark Lord’s demands in seventh year, he might’ve gotten top marks. Anyone can go back to school _after_ a war and excel. “What is your purpose here?”

“I want to work for you. Well, not you in particular,” Granger corrected herself, nose wrinkling slightly, which did not escape notice. “You see, Headmaster McGonagall won’t accept me as her research assistant unless I take a gap year to get some life experience outside academia. Now I’m seeking a job for the next twelve months, but not with the ministry because honestly they were useless during the war...”

Narcissa was hearing a life story when all she wanted was a concise statement. She held in a sigh and returned to her task of deciding which photo layout looked least awful, listening with half an ear as the rambling continued.

“...and all my other job applications have been rejected because they don’t want me to ‘squander my talent’ in trivial jobs, because of, you know, the hero thing, and I’m running out of options, so it’s down to your magazine or _Witch Weekly_.”

Narcissa folded her hands under her chin, staring in disbelief. “So you don’t read _Blacklist_.”

“No.”

“And you weren’t aware of my fame in fashion.”

Granger’s lips spread sheepishly. “No.”

“And you know nothing about wizarding style or how to dress yourself properly.”

Granger stuck her chin out in defiance, though to her credit her tone remained polite. “Well, different people have different―”

“No, no. That wasn’t a question.” Narcissa let her eyes rove over the young woman and mentally critiqued every aspect from head to toe. The bushy brown hair showed a clear lack of care, with frayed ends near the rough collar of her corduroy jacket. The jacket itself was... unspeakable. The black slacks had an unflattering cut covering what would have been appealing curves, and sported the telltale wrinkles of being left in a drawer too long without ever feeling an iron. Narcissa could see all of this in an instant, and it did not leave a good impression.

The judgment had a rather satisfying effect of putting Granger off balance, but her feeble pitch continued. “In fourth year I took the initiative to create the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, spreading awareness for―”

“That’s all.” Narcissa flicked her hands. She was tired of chatter about childish activities that in no way qualified someone to assist a demanding and _very busy_ fashion editor.

Huffing in irritation, Granger turned on her heel with a squeak against the gleaming floor. She only made it a few steps away before she turned back and said, “Alright, you have a point. I don’t know anything about fashion.”

Narcissa looked up from her work again with mild interest. The audacity to stay after dismissal and the humility to admit one’s one weaknesses were a rare combination in her world.

Granger continued, “But I’m smart. People call me the brightest witch of my age. I’m studious, I pay attention to details, I’m highly organized, and I will work very―”

“Mother, the Holyhead Harpies shoot is going terribly,” Draco interrupted, sweeping into Narcissa’s office.

“―very hard,” Granger finished before she gave up and stomped away.

Draco showed Narcissa a few snapshots. “The players pose nicely at first, but if you watch the photographs long enough, they make rude gestures. See? This one is sticking her tongue out between her fingers. Nine out of ten are unpublishable.”

Narcissa felt a little thrill as she looked up from the photograph to watch Granger disappear down the hall. She’d be lying if she said the young witch had no potential. Maybe a bright and thorough worker was just whom she needed working under her. “Keep them. They’re true to life,” she decided.

Draco followed her gaze. “Was that Granger? Are you plotting something I don’t know about?”

“No plot. I want that witch,” Narcissa said. “Dobby?”

Pansy Parkinson hurried in. “Yes, Narcissa?”

Pansy was a good first assistant, though none could ever measure up to Narcissa’s late house elf Dobby, the perfect servant and one dearly missed whenever she woke up thirsty or needed someone to pick something up off the floor.

Narcissa smiled to herself. “Fetch Hermione Granger for me and train her.”

Pansy didn’t question her, but Draco protested, “She’s a mudblood! We can’t have her working here.”

“It’s a new century. Blood purity is so passé,” Narcissa said, waving them both away. “Why are you still living in 1999?”

“This _is_ 1999,” Draco muttered.


	2. In which Narcissa is Not Impressed

It’s not unreasonable to expect some measure of competence on someone’s first day. Narcissa could make allowances. She could tolerate mistakes. She could _not_ tolerate willful stupidity.

“Did you not clearly hear me say I want _eight_ Donna Karkaroff blouses?” she wondered, glaring at her two assistants.

Pansy shot an accusing look at Granger, who admitted, “Yes, Narcissa, but Miss Karkaroff told me she only had six finished―”

“So you _lean_ on her until she gives you two more,” Narcissa said with an exasperated sigh. “I know you were raised by muggles, but can’t you at least _try_ not to be as weak-willed and oblivious as they are?”

Granger’s eyes flashed. “My parents are some of the best people I know. Don’t talk about muggles like that.”

How dare Granger talk back to her? Perhaps Narcissa could turn that fiery stubborness to her advantage. “Prove me wrong,” she countered. “Improve by the end of the week, or you and Pansy will be the next casualties.”

Pansy’s mouth hung open. “But Granger’s the one who screwed up.”

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. “And you’re the one supposedly training her _not_ to do so. You both have jobs to do.”

The two witches returned to their desks, and Narcissa eavesdropped on their conversation. No one seemed to realize how easily she could hear everything, and she intended to keep it that way.

Granger’s voice echoed through the office, asking, “What does she mean by ‘casualties’?”

“Narcissa’s assistants never last, and neither will you,” Pansy answered snidely. “I’ve been here for almost a full year and I won’t let you ruin my chance at a promotion. Most girls quit. Some disappear. I heard that one girl turned up dead in an alley.”

Narcissa smiled, stroking the tip of her wand with her finger. She loved the darkest rumors. They were hogwash, obviously, but they kept everyone in top form for fear of earning her wrath.

In the other room, Granger said skeptically, “That didn’t really happen. No one would murder someone for being a bad fashion assistant.”

“If you really think that, then you don’t know Narcissa,” Pansy replied. “Don’t believe me? Talk to the witch you’re replacing. Narcissa berated her and let her wander off crying in the woods. She got attacked by a manticore and had to go to St. Mungo’s. Then her final paycheck was docked for missing work.”

Narcissa did not appreciate that retold version of events. It was highly unfair to blame her for that in any way. She was only being truthful when she said the girl was little more than a glorified Accio charm. And _Blacklist_ ’s profits would suffer if she kept paying employees in full when they were lying useless in a hospital.

Pansy concluded, “That’s the kind of boss you’re working for now, so if she wants eight DK skirts, you bring her exactly eight. Not seven, not nine, _eight._ Even if you have to sew the damn things yourself!”

Narcissa nodded in silent agreement. When she wanted something, she got it.

***

And she was nothing if not the trial-by-fire type. The next day, she called softly, “Dobby.”

There was a long delay. Very displeasing.

“She means you,” Pansy hissed.

Granger came rushing in with a small notebook and readied her quill. “Yes, Narcissa?”

“That had better be Unsmearable Ink,” Narcissa said. “If you get fingerprints on any designer clothing...” She let an unspoken threat hang in the air, enjoying the way Granger squirmed, and started listing tasks. “Make an appointment at the Yves Saint Catchpole headquarters.”

“What time―”

Narcissa ignored her and went on, “Tell my ex-husband he may attend Draco’s birthday gala only if he does not speak to Andromeda or interact with Teddy in any way whatsoever. Reject Suitor #11 for me, but politely so he won’t be provoked into starting a smear campaign.”

“Who―”

“We need different scarves from Hermìt. No more gnomes-tooth patterns. And send an owl asking for a draft of this summer’s feature article.”

“Okay, but where should I send the owl?” Granger asked, quill racing across the page as she tried to write everything down. Her hands looked nimble, with smooth skin aside from a callous on her middle finger from the pressure of the pen.

Narcissa did not wonder how that texture would feel under her fingertips. “Aren’t you supposed to be the brightest witch of your age?” she snipped. “That’s all.”

***

On the third day, Narcissa strode between her assistants’ desks as usual on her way into the office. She tossed her cloak at Granger, who seemed affronted as if she were too good to hang it up. The girl would either have to lose the attitude or lose this job.

“Where is my tea?” Narcissa asked. “Did you spill it on that dreadful beige jumper?”

“I’m sorry,” Granger apologized. “I got here late, which is really unusual for me, honestly, but today Ginny and my other flatmates needed help―”

“You’re _sorry_?”

“Very sorry, I know it reflects badly on my work ethic but I―”

“I don’t think you understand,” Narcissa interrupted again. “This is a place of business. In school if you’re late, the professor scolds you and takes away house points, and your classmates give you a hard time about it, boohoo. Here when you’re late, you disrupt _my_ day, perhaps _multiple_ people’s days, which could derail long-term plans that our magazine’s survival depends upon. So don’t tell me you’re _sorry_. Ensure it never happens again.”

Granger’s expression shifted from irritation to embarrassment to outright guilt. “Sorry―um, I will, I promise.”

Narcissa continued into her office without responding as an owl swooped in with a letter and landed on her assistant’s desk.

Behind her, Granger asked, “Um... what should I do with this letter?”

Pansy answered, “Take it, don’t just sit there like an idiot. It’s your job to receive owls for Narcissa and respond to them.”

“Why isn’t that your job? I don’t know what to write,” Granger replied.

“Pay attention and keep up,” Pansy said. “If it’s business, do whatever needs to be done. If it’s a suitor, decide whether the letter is worth her time. You need to stop asking so many stupid questions.”

***

Granger did not stop asking stupid questions.

“Where is the Hermìt store? I’m sorry I couldn’t find it. I’ve asked all around and everyone just laughed.”

“What do I do if Suitor #12 isn’t available for dinner on the evening you wanted?”

“How was I supposed to know you meant dark green, not light green?”

Because that shade of green would look terrible with silver accessories, _obviously_. Never before in her life had Narcissa met someone so ignorant of fashion and the demands it put on her as editor-in-chief. She kept waiting for her new assistant to prove her worth, watching Granger botch every order and run around on errands in such rumpled, ill-chosen clothes that Narcissa longed to tear them off. For aesthetic reasons.


	3. In which Narcissa Isn't Asking For Much, Really

By the end of Granger’s first week, Narcissa was near snapping, with no patience left for anyone except her faultless son.

“Didn’t you all have _days_ to prepare?” she wondered aloud.

Employees scrambled around to put together the run-through in her office while Draco directed them to prevent collisions. This was the moment for them to show her all of the potential designs for the next issue, but everyone was panicking and switching out racks of clothing at the last minute. She’d only moved up the meeting time by thirty minutes. Anyone truly prepared would’ve had no trouble meeting the new timeline.

She clucked her tongue. “Is this all you have?”

“We have another rack of cloaks that should be here!” one witch said, searching in vain. “They must still be in the Wardrobe. Sh-should I go get them?”

“No.” They were all stressed out, and Narcissa’s criticism did nothing but make them more frantic. It’s not that she didn’t notice, simply that she didn’t care enough to rein it in. “Dobby?” she called.

Granger hurried in. “Yes, Narcissa?”

“Fetch the Yves cloaks from the Wardrobe.”

While Granger left to complete her task, simple enough that even _she_ couldn’t possibly mess it up, Narcissa started examining the available clothing. Over the next five minutes, she discarded several garish dress robes unworthy of a place in the pages of her magazine.

“None of these designs have any flair, or imagination,” she said as Granger returned with an armful of clothing. Narcissa waved for her to come closer, frowning when she got a good look at the fabric. “What are these?”

“The Yves cloaks you asked for,” Granger said, as if it were obvious. As if Narcissa had forgotten.

“No,” Narcissa drawled, “they are not.” She took one of the cloaks and held it up. “Feel this fabric. Look at the way it drapes over the body. You think this is designer? You think _this_ is worth two hundred galleons?”

Granger blanched at the price and shook her head. “No? I don’t know. I mean, I wouldn’t have guessed. You can buy a first edition of _Spellman’s Syllabary_ for less than that! Personally, I’d rather keep wearing my Hogwarts uniform.”

Draco examined the cloaks with the same disdain as his mother. “Cheap, generic, already worn. How stupid are you? These are from the employee coat rack.”

Granger shrugged. “I couldn’t tell! All of this is just a bunch of cloth to me.”

“Just... _cloth_?” Narcissa echoed, cool voice belying how livid she was.

Draco smirked. Everyone else in the room held their breath. One person took a step back. Granger looked around with evident dread as the gravity of her error sank in.

“I understand,” Narcissa said with false sympathy. “You’re a scholar, thinking much more important thoughts. The only clothing decision you need to make is selecting which bland, identical woolen school robes you’ll throw on each day. Nevermind that there’s a _reason_ they’re made of wool rather than, say, murtlap skin or woven knotgrass. Nevermind how Christo and Jeanne-Claude created a work of art by wrapping Paris’s oldest bridge in fabric strong enough to span distances, yet wispy as an ethereal vision. Nevermind how Ann Hamilton, I believe it was, created an exhibit in Lyon with blood orange silk billowing above visitors’ heads while peacocks roamed the room. Do you realize that silk represents something, evokes a particular feeling, _moves_ a particular way? Nothing else would do. And it’s the same with your woolen robes: inexpensive, comfortable in warm weather and wet winters―not to mention relatively fireproof to protect you from idiotic potion-brewing mishaps―and if you had ever bothered to lift your eyes from all of that _arrogant_ navel-gazing over how smart and bookish you are, you wouldn’t be so _ungrateful_ that someone like me used extensive knowledge of textiles to weigh countless options and select the ideal fabric for you. From a _bunch of cloth_.”

Granger’s shoulders hunched more and more over the course of the impromptu speech as if she could retreat into her drab shirt like a turtle in its shell. Narcissa glared for a moment longer, trying to identify an unfamiliar feeling. There was something she didn’t like about the way Granger’s forehead crinkled in distress, or the shape of her lips with the corners turned down. She wanted it to stop. But that would require pandering to hurt feelings, which was not going to happen.

“Find Pansy for me,” Narcissa commanded. She turned away and continued with the run-through while Granger backed out of the room as unobtrusively as possible.

A few minutes later, Pansy came in looking nervous. “Yes, Narcissa? What did she do this time? Whatever it is, it’s not my fault, it’s―”

“Your head is off the chopping block, Pansy,” Narcissa said. “I know you did everything you could to train that hopeless case. Bring me the actual Yves cloaks from the Wardrobe. That’s all.”

***

Narcissa strode into the foyer of her sister’s house. “She’s a disaster, Andi. I never should have hired her,” she vented, tossing her coat into the cloakroom where it magically hung itself up. She was inexpressibly grateful to Andromeda for welcoming her into her home after the divorce and forgiving her for those decades of ostracism and whatnot.

“You say that every day. It’s only been a week,” Andromeda replied, coming downstairs. “Give her time.”

“I’m not certain how much more I can take,” Narcissa said. “Someone who makes this many mistakes is worse than having no assistants at all. She mistook a generic cloak for a designer one. Anyone with functioning eyes can see how the fabric drapes differently. Do you have more of that pinot from yesterday?”

“I’ll pour us some glasses. Sit down, you look exhausted,” Andromeda said. “Hermione was a star student, wasn’t she? Make her some flashcards so she can train herself to recognize the nuances of fabric draping.”

“Do you think that would work?” Narcissa asked. “I’m not exhausted.” She slipped off her high heels as she sat gracefully in an armchair, not collapsing with a sigh the way an exhausted person would.

“I was joking, Cissy. And you can’t hide the signs of fatigue from me. How many hours have you put in this week?”

“As many as were necessary. Flashcards may be her only hope. I had half a mind to fire her after she failed to bring me the Hermìt scarves I asked for. She didn’t know where to find, and I quote, ‘the Hermìt store.’ You can’t simply go to a store and find a reclusive fashion genius behind the counter. How does she not know the designer lives deep in the woods, tending the thestral herd that models his collections?”

“Of course, everyone knows that,” Andromeda agreed, though her tone sounded slightly sarcastic.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes but continued venting. “And I don’t know what muggles teach their children, but she has no respect for my authority.”

“She doesn’t follow orders?”

“Worse. She talks back, she makes judgment calls without the proper authorization, she asks questions...”

“Oh, no. Not _questions_.”

“She dares to question _me_.”

“Cissy, have you ever considered that explaining your reasoning would help everything run more smoothly?”

“My reasoning is a trade secret,” Narcissa objected. “If people understand it, they can replicate and replace me, just as we did to China by bringing tea plants to India in the 1800s. Do you want that to be my fate? Of course not.”

Andromeda sighed. “Will you go get Teddy while I start dinner?”

“Gladly!” Narcissa stood up with more energy than she’d felt a moment ago and padded upstairs in stockinged feet.

She stepped into her great-nephew’s bedroom and felt warmth spread from her heart as she watched him play with a little wooden badger. After a moment, Narcissa waved to catch his attention. Her hands formed _E_ for Edward as she crossed her arms over her heart like the _bear_ sign. “ _Hi, Teddy_.”

His eyes lit up the moment he saw her. He toddled over with his toy and grabbed her leg, looking up with big brown eyes.

“ _Want food?_ ” she signed, raising her eyebrows.

He nodded so hard he almost fell over and signed, “ _Hungry_.”

“ _I swear,_ ” she replied with an emphatic slash of her hand, “ _you hungry always_.”

“ _Hungry_ ,” he repeated solemnly.

Narcissa chuckled and picked him up, carrying him on her hip downstairs. She muttered to herself while clumsily signing with her free hand, “ _You probably want meat, very raw, disgusting. You future sick E. coli._ ”

He giggled as she tapped his fingers to help her spell E. coli, and he replied, “ _Meat!_ ”

“What a surprise,” Andromeda said aloud as they entered the kitchen. “He wants meat.”

“Thank goodness a minor craving is the extent of his genetic inheritance,” Narcissa said.

Andromeda turned away, stirring a sauce that didn’t need to be stirred. “Would you love him less if he were a werewolf like his father?”

“Never!” Narcissa said. “I would love him regardless. Why do you always assume the worst about me? It’s the stigma I worry about. He’d face so much prejudice.”

“Well, forgive me for _assuming_ because you spent most of your life spouting that kind of prejudice,” Andromeda snapped.

Teddy started crying, looking back and forth at their angry faces through his tears.

“Shh, shh,” Narcissa hushed automatically, rubbing the back of his head. “This isn’t about him, is it?”

“Forget it. Bygones,” Andromeda dismissed, faking a reassuring smile for Teddy. “Let’s just enjoy dinner.”

Narcissa put him in his high chair and sat down, feeling uncomfortable. So she hadn’t been fully forgiven. It hardly seemed fair, considering all of the good things she’d done for her sister since reuniting. Paying the mortgage so Andromeda wouldn’t have to sell the house, buying food, paying for everyone’s British Sign Language classes, providing a carriage and driver... wasn’t that enough?

***

On Monday, Narcissa strode toward her office half expecting the mudblood to be absent, or at least sulking. Instead, she was greeted with a cheerful smile.

“Good morning, Narcissa. There’s hot tea waiting for you at your desk,” Granger said, approaching and offering her hands. “May I take your cloak?”

Narcissa stared, certain this was some kind of trick. She highly doubted her assistant was inspired to make an effort from one speech―though it was eloquent and well delivered; Narcissa had to give herself some credit. Her eyes roved over Granger’s face, seeing openness, earnestness, and... there! A flash of fire, a desire to prove something. Narcissa would need to keep an eye on her. She took off her cloak, then noticed something that made her hesitate to hand it over.

“Is that... _animal hair_?” Narcissa asked. With a look of disgust, she trailed the tip of her wand down her assistant’s sleeve, siphoning off a strip of fur.

“It’s from my cat. He sheds a lot,” Granger replied. She gestured to the rest of her sweater and said impudently, “You missed a spot.”

With an impatient flick of her wand, Narcissa banished the sweater.

“Hey!” Granger shrieked, looking down at her rumpled blouse, which should never have seen the light of day. “Where did it go?!”

Narcissa waved her hand. “Oh, I don’t know. Wherever things go when they’re willed out of existence.”

“That was my favorite sweater!” Granger stuck out her jaw, face pinched with anger. Oh, yes, that fire still smoldered beneath the earnest effort, and all it took was a little prodding to make it blaze. Narcissa suppressed a wicked smile.

“If you ever bring cat hair into this building again,” she threatened, “I will skin you and your cat alive.”

Granger put her hands on her hips. “If you lay a finger on Crookshanks, I'll plan an even worse fate for you!”

“Ooh, you’ll _plan_ me to death. I’m quaking in my Jimmy Floos.” Narcissa walked away, high heels clacking purposefully on the floor. She shouldn’t tolerate such insubordination, but no one else had witnessed it and she felt forgiving. In fact, she felt downright giddy. She got more work done than usual over the course of the morning and made two designers cry in the afternoon. It was a good day.

***

It was a terrible evening. Narcissa had a dinner date scheduled with Suitor #12, who showed up thirteen minutes later than she did.

“I’ve heard this place is fantastic,” he said, sitting down across from her. “I’ll buy you their best dish. It’s roasted nifflers in flobberworm sauce with―”

“I’m vegan,” she lied, simply to throw him off. What kind of fool begins a date with statements she could’ve read in a restaurant review?

“Oh. I’ll... buy you their best lettuce dish, then? I was really hoping to treat you tonight. Put my best foot forward, you know, let you get a feel for my sack of gold.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Narcissa tossed her napkin on the table. “I’ve actually lost my appetite. Enjoy your flobberworms alone.”

“But we just got here,” Suitor #12 protested. “Do you know how much I paid to get a reservation on their opening week? You at least owe me a chance to win you over.”

Narcissa gave him a tight smile full of venom and left without looking back.

***

She couldn’t keep a scowl from her face as she walked into work the next day.

“Good morning, Narcissa,” Granger said, still determined to be cheerful while Pansy kept her head down and worked diligently. “Adrian confirmed the photoshoot, and a letter arrived from Suitor #12. May I take your cloak?” She stepped closer and frowned a little. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Incinerate the letter and reject him,” Narcissa said, ignoring the personal question. “Cancel any other dates this week.”

She inspected her assistant for signs of cat hair. Satisfied that there was none, she loosened the ties of her cloak and blocked out the pleasant feeling of Granger’s soft fingers curling around the collar to take it.

“Hang it carefully,” Narcissa instructed. “Considering your previously demonstrated ignorance, you may be unaware that it’s worth more than all of your clothing combined and requires a delicate touch.”

Pansy gave Granger a superior smile, dressed in an edgy Vivienne Rookwood outfit from only one season ago.

“With all due respect, _Editor-in-Chief_ ,” Granger snapped, somehow making the title sound rude, “most people can’t afford name-brand clothes straight from the people who make them!” She tripped over nothing on the way to hang up the cloak, nearly falling. Fate’s revenge for her rudeness, surely. Pansy stifled a cruel laugh.

“If you think that’s the issue here, you're sorely mistaken,” Narcissa snapped in reply. “One can appreciate something beautiful without needing to possess it.”

Granger’s expression softened back into a frown, with a searching look that made Narcissa feel strangely exposed even though she'd had the last word. Unacceptable.

***

“Good morning, Narcissa.” That unrelenting smile again, every day of her entire second week.

Narcissa did not smile back and did not admit the routine was growing on her. She tilted her head to indicate Granger should follow her into the office.

“Close the door,” Narcissa said. She crossed the room to stand by a locked chest. “Come over here.”

Her assistant hesitated before closing the door and approached slowly, looking ready to fight or run.

“I don’t particularly wish to entrust you with this,” Narcissa said, “but there are too many arrangements to be made and not enough time to do it all myself. This matter is of the utmost importance and must be kept secret from everyone. _Everyone_ , do you hear me?”

Granger grimaced nervously. “If it’s that important, Pansy would be a better choice. I can barely keep up with all of the things to learn.”

“Pansy is too close to Draco. She’d tell him immediately.”

“Even Draco can’t know about it?” Granger asked in surprise.

“What part of _everyone_ don’t you understand?” Narcissa snipped. “Do you swear on your life to keep this under wraps? Perhaps we should make an Unbreakable Vow―”

“No, no!” Granger said, holding up her hands. “That’s okay, I’ll just swear. Unless it’s something illegal. I’m pretty good at keeping secrets, actually. I kept Harry and Ron hidden on the run, for a while at least, and kept the truth about the Sword of Gryffindor secret even when it nearly cost me―”

“It’s a birthday surprise for Draco.”

“―my life.” Granger stopped talking and stared. “Oh. That’s. Very important, yes. Doesn’t he... already know he has a birthday coming up?”

“Yes, on June 5th. He also knows there will be a gala. But he doesn’t know what the theme will be.” With some excitement, Narcissa unlocked the chest, taking out a large silver goblet. “You see?”

“A goblet?”

Narcissa rolled her eyes and tapped her wand on it to made flames sprout from inside like the Goblet of Fire. Then she glanced at the door with a frown, hearing a telltale scuffling noise.

Granger’s eyes widened. “Ohhh. Is it for a Tri―”

Narcissa stepped closer and held her fingers to Granger’s lips, which trembled, perhaps in fright. “Trial in a courtroom, exactly,” she bluffed loudly before leaning in to whisper, “Shh, don’t be alarmed. Draco is at the door eavesdropping. Don’t let him know we’re aware.”

“Hmm. He, um... shouldn’t eavesdrop,” Granger mumbled, eyes wide.

Narcissa frowned. “I don’t know how to deter him. Noise-muffling charms won’t make him give up on finding evidence. He does this every year, trying to hear news about his birthday party. Don’t say a word.” If her finger happened to trace the soft line of a lower lip as she drew back, it was definitely not deliberate. Not at all.

Granger swayed slightly, looking flushed and light-headed. She reached out to steady herself with Narcissa’s arm.

“Keep your hands to yourself!” Narcissa growled. “Are you ill or something? It had better not be contagious.”

A light knock rapped on the door, and a few seconds later it opened. Narcissa hid the goblet before Draco stepped in.

“Mother?” He stopped and looked at them with something close to horror. The two witches were still standing uncommonly close from their earlier whispering. It must have looked even more suspicious as Granger hastily stepped back, still blushing.

“We wanted privacy, Draco,” Narcissa said. If he drew inappropriate conclusions, it was his own fault for being nosy. “What is it?”

Draco glanced between them, giving Granger a rude look. “I was walking by and heard you raise your voice, Mother. Is everything alright? Is your _employee_ minding her manners?”

Narcissa wanted to scoff in disbelief. Just walking by, hmm? “Everything is fine, Pumpkin,” she assured him, voice sweet. “No need to worry about me. I have the situation well in hand. Would you please go whip the art department into shape so they’ll create a better cover design?”

Draco nodded and shut the door on his way out. Granger muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _nepotism_.

Narcissa looked down her nose at her. “I’ll have you know that family members are the most trustworthy employees.”

“That’s not necessarily true. And even if my parents trust me, it doesn’t mean I’d be good at filling in cavities.”

Narcissa chose to ignore her. “Anyhow, there’s a week remaining before the gala, and it will have a Triwizard Tournament theme. I’ll need you to secretly make arrangements for decorating my sister’s back yard with a dragon, a lake, and a hedge maze for a series of games that Draco will win against other partygoers to impress several handsome wizards I’ve invited for him.”

Granger opened and shut her mouth repeatedly, with a cute wrinkle between her eyebrows. She clearly had questions, though she’d learned by now not to ask them.

Narcissa took pity on her and explained, “The dragon should be too small to pose a serious threat, but large enough to feel like a challenge, you understand.”

“A real dragon,” Granger said, sounding dazed. “In a week. Okay.”

Narcissa captured her eyes with a steady gaze. “Do _not_ disappoint me.”


	4. In Which Everyone Else is at Fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long x_x Sorry, I tried very hard to finish a chapter sooner but wasn't in the right mindset. Here's something finally, yesss! And I'll catch up on some replies in the next few days.  
> Also, I started a Discord server for any Cissamione shippers out there, whether you're a reader, writer, artist, or daydreamer. Yay community! \o/ Come by and introduce yourself. The invite link isn't public now (for safety against raids) but it's still very much open to everyone. Message me on Fanfiction.net or Tumblr (same username) for an invite. If you can't reach me, try messaging another Cissamione shipper. There are a bunch of great folks in there and anyone can give you an invite :)

Narcissa stood in the center of a storm as usual, with clothes zooming through the air while models, designers, and photographers prepared for a sunset photoshoot on the roof. Too many of them kept dropping by to ask her to fix problems they should have been able to solve themselves.

“Why haven’t the alterations been made already?” Narcissa asked, exasperated. “Clothes should fit the models, not the other way around. It doesn’t require advanced arithmancy. Take the measurements again.” It was a wonder any of them accomplished anything without her presence.

Granger came outside and glanced right over all of the models in various states of undress, seeking out Narcissa. She cleared her throat as she approached. “Um, can I speak with you about that private matter you asked me to handle?”

Narcissa rolled her eyes to the heavens. No doubt Granger expected the editor-in-chief to sweep in and fix everything for her as well. “Come, let’s find somewhere away from Draco.” She glanced over at her son, who was handing out accessories with his eyes politely averted despite a few witches’ attempts to catch his attention. They would have better luck trying to lure a dragon with hay.

Granger looked around and nodded toward a maze of clothing racks. Narcissa found herself in the unfamiliar situation of letting her assistant lead the way with a gentle hand around her wrist. Before she could even think of asking who exactly was in charge here, Granger tugged her further behind some faux furs to hide, surrounded on all sides by elaborate autumn-themed robes for the next season.

“I don’t appreciate being pushed about,” Narcissa protested.

“Sorry,” Granger apologized, doing one last scan of the area before facing her, disconcertingly close.

Narcissa watched and waited, eyes locked with her assistant, who seemed at a loss for words for several seconds before looking away and taking deep, slow breaths. Perhaps the tight space was affecting her, or the summer heat. Narcissa felt rather warm herself with Granger’s body so close but declined to dwell on it. “Well? I assume this is about the birthday party. Get to the point, what fire do you need me to put out?”

Granger refocused. “Yes, the party! About that.” She raised her hands in the air and exclaimed, “It’s literally impossible! I looked at Andromeda’s back yard and there’s nothing but overgrown woods! How can I make an entire lake there in only a few days?!”

Despite improved job performance, she still had these inexplicable moments of ineptitude. “I fail to see the problem,” Narcissa said. “You have access to my budget, my landscapers―”

Granger’s nose scrunched. “What if they figure out what’s going on? You said I have to keep this a secret from everyone.”

Narcissa sighed. “They’re laborers; they don’t count.” She ignored Granger’s offended look and continued, “You have all of those resources at your disposal, not to mention _magic_ , in case that slipped your muggleborn mind―”

“Oh, and your current favorite caterers said they don’t do birthday parties―”

“Tell them to make an exception.”

“People don’t like it when I’m bossy,” Granger said. “I tried to ask nicely, but they don’t just magically obey me like they do for you!”

Narcissa discarded her next dismissive remark and frowned. If that was Granger’s mindset, it’s no wonder she was having trouble. “I want you to listen very closely; there’s something you need to understand. I am a powerful witch. You act as my agent.”

“I’m more than just some agent―”

“ _Listen_. When you do things in my name, all of my power is yours.” Narcissa laid her hands on Granger’s shoulders as if to physically transfer it. “People jump to follow my orders, it’s true. So _use_ that, use my name. Remind them who you speak for. Take charge so that you can give me everything I want.”

Granger nodded with her expressive eyebrows knit together in concentration and her lips muttering the advice to absorb it. “Okay. It’s okay to be bossy... Use your name... Take charge?”

Narcissa looked up and caught her eyes again―and really, she couldn’t help but notice their rich shade of brown when they were fixed upon her. A light rosewood color, perhaps, here in the evening sun. “Precisely,” she stalled, unable to remember their original topic.

“Narcissa!” Pansy called, approaching them amongst the faux furs. “Where are you?” She pushed aside clothing as she searched. “Narciss―ahh!”

“Ahh!” Draco yelled, hiding place exposed.

“Draco?!” Narcissa exclaimed.

“Ahhhhh!” he screamed again at the sight of them so close together―again.

She dropped her hands from Granger’s shoulders. “How much did you hear?”

“Nothing, I don’t know, something about her giving you what you want?” He grimaced and shook his hands as if to fling the thought away. “I thought you were going to talk about my party!”

Narcissa was absolutely done with his nosy behavior. “Draco, this eavesdropping has got to...”

“I’ll stop, I swear!” Draco said. “I don’t want to hear whatever you’re doing together.” He turned and fled.

Narcissa hid a smile, amused that his inappropriate assumptions had deterred him for good. She turned to Pansy. “Is there a reason you interrupted our conversation?”

Pansy answered, “Someone from Teddy’s daycare is in the fireplace, asking for you.”

Alarmed, Narcissa asked, “Is there something wrong?” Seeing only a clueless shrug, she hurried toward the rooftop door. “Come along, Dobby.” Both of her assistants followed her downstairs and waited nearby.

The large fireplace in their office suite had flared to life. A man’s head and hands hovered in the green flames.

“ _Hello, Miss Black?_ ” he signed. “ _I’m Rob, from daycare._ ”

“ _Problem with Teddy?_ ” Narcissa asked immediately.

“ _Teddy’s perfectly fine_ ,” the caregiver reassured her. “ _But his grandmother hasn’t come to pick him up, and we couldn’t reach her at home._ ”

Narcissa glanced at a large antique clock nearby. Seven o’clock p.m., an hour past pickup time. “ _Very sorry, I arrive soon_ ,” she said with a quick farewell, worried about her sister now. Andromeda spent her afternoons doing some pastime―a potions club? a golf club? some kind of club―but that should have been over a while ago.

“Of all the days to make me leave work early...” Narcissa muttered, gathering her things to leave. “She’d better be mortally wounded. Lying in a gully somewhere. Held hostage.”

“Who?” Granger asked.

“Andromeda! She didn’t pick up Teddy from daycare and now I can’t supervise a photoshoot that is certain to be a disaster without me. Pansy, take my place. Since you’ll be busy with that, Granger will need to take the Scroll to my house.”

“The Scroll?” Granger repeated, wide-eyed. “With all of the mockups for the entire issue? Pansy told me I wasn’t allowed to touch it.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You’re allowed if you treat it with the proper respect. You have to guard it with your life. Don’t expose it to bad weather, or drop it, or crush it...”

“Can’t we send it by owl?” Granger asked.

Narcissa repressed a shudder. “I don’t want an owl’s claws anywhere near it. Ring the bell to summon my carriage.” She fastened her cloak at her collar and left before she could hear any more horrific suggestions.

***

She reached the daycare quickly. “ _Thank you for stay late_ ,” she said, trying to hide her irritation.

“ _It’s no problem. I volunteered to be the one who stayed later,_ ” the caregiver replied. “ _Teddy is such a sweet little boy_.”

Narcissa felt a pang of envy as she watched him sign. His sentences flowed with fluent motions while her own felt stilted in comparison, with only a year of practice under her belt. She made a mental note to take more lessons and followed the caregiver into the kids’ playroom.

“ _Auntie!_ ” Teddy exclaimed, hand wobbly from excitement when he spotted her.

Narcissa’s stress faded as she crouched down next to him. “ _Ready go home, sweetie?_ ” She picked him up, nuzzling his blue hair with her nose. He giggled and patted her face.

The caregiver accompanied her to the front door, saying, “ _We miss having Andromeda around, and Teddy loves it when she joins us. Please invite her to keep coming whenever she can. As always, you’re welcome too._ ”

Narcissa smiled and hid her confusion. As far as she knew, Andromeda frequently stayed to play with Teddy and attended a weekly discussion group. “ _Where Grandma?_ ” she asked Teddy playfully, not really expecting an answer.

Teddy certainly tried to say something, but it all went right over her head.

The caregiver laughed. “ _Look at him babble. The only actual word I caught was ’sleep.’ Just wait until he gets a little older. His vocabulary will explode!_ ”

Narcissa nodded impatiently, familiar with that already from Draco. After enduring a few more pleasantries and farewells, she carried Teddy outside to her waiting carriage and stepped in, wishing he were old enough to use floo powder or side-along apparate safely.

***

The ride home was maddeningly long.

“Andi?” Narcissa called, looking around the ground floor. She found her sister unharmed, sound asleep―Teddy was right―with a book and a blanket on one of the couches in the sitting room. "Andromeda, wake up," she said, tapping her on the shoulder. “What are you doing? I had to leave work and pick up Teddy because you forgot.”

Andromeda sat up hastily, looking panicked. “I’m sorry!” She kicked off the blanket as she stood up. “ _Sorry, sweetie_ ,” she signed, “ _Naptime too long, not forget you._ ” She took Teddy into her arms and showered him with affection.

“Should I buy you an alarm clock?” Narcissa huffed. “I don’t know how you could be so irresponsible. Don’t let this happen again. Have today’s groceries been delivered?”

“I don’t―I don’t know.” Andromeda covered her eyes for a moment.

“If you want to lie around all day, that’s fine,” Narcissa said. “But I must know in advance. I could hire a nanny and a cook.”

“No, I’ve told you, I don’t want to deal with strangers in my house every day. I’ll handle it.”

“You’re celebrating Draco’s birthday with us on Saturday, right? You won’t oversleep and forget the party in your own backyard?”

“Of course I’ll be there.” Andromeda replied. “It sounds like you’ve had a stressful day. Go take a bath or something to relax. I’ll make cookies for dessert and ring the bell when dinner is ready.” She headed to the kitchen with Teddy on her hip.

Narcissa stalked away, though she did not stomp like a child on her way upstairs to her suite. “‘Go take a bath,’” she muttered. “As if that will solve anything.” She slipped out of her clothes and took a brief shower to get clean before her long soak. Right as she was about to fill the tub, she heard the bell. Grumbling about timing, Narcissa wrapped herself in an emerald green silk robe and returned downstairs where she stopped short, hearing voices in the kitchen. She peeked around the doorframe and saw Granger there mixing cookie dough and talking quietly with Andromeda.

Her sister glanced over in surprise. “Oh, sorry. That was the door, not the dinner bell. I let Hermione in. You can go back to your bath.”

“I brought the Scroll like you asked,” Granger added. “It’s in the foyer.”

“Why are you in our kitchen?” Narcissa asked, approaching her and eyeing the mixing bowl.

“We’re catching up, Cissy,” Andromeda said. She gestured to her grandson on the floor pushing trains around chair legs. “She wanted to see Teddy, and I wanted to hear how Harry’s auror training is going.”

Narcissa sniffed with disinterest and reached past Granger to steal a bit of cookie dough to eat on her way back upstairs.

“Not before dinner,” Granger said, slapping her hand away. “You’ll spoil your appetite.”

Narcissa stared in shock and felt her skin tighten with goosebumps.

Granger looked up and stared right back, equally shocked. “Merlin, I’m sorry, it’s a reflex! Ginny is always trying to... um...” Her gaze drifted downward from Narcissa’s face, then dropped to the floor. “Oh, god,” she whispered.

Narcissa pulled the robe tighter around herself, crossing her arms and flushing in awareness of how little the thin material concealed and how embarrassing it must be for her assistant. She hadn’t thought twice about it when there was only a baby and her sister, who couldn’t care less. Falling back on sarcasm, she asked, “May I sample the food you’re preparing in _my_ home with ingredients _I_ purchased?”

“Here, take it,” Granger said, offering the bowl. “You can have it.”

Narcissa dipped a few fingers in and took more than she originally intended, in defiance of the warning about her appetite.

Granger’s hands started shaking, and she set the bowl back on the counter. “Um, I shouldn’t overstay my welcome. Owl me if you want to talk, Mrs. Tonks. Bye!” She slipped out of the room, and the two sisters heard the front door open and close abruptly.

Narcissa looked at Andromeda, whose eyebrows were sky high. “What?” she snapped.

Andromeda said, “That was... interesting.”

“How so?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Andromeda dismissed. “Is it warm enough in the kitchen? There may be a nip in the air.”

“It’s too warm, with the oven on,” Narcissa replied, frowning. “I’m going back to my bath.”

“Mhm, enjoy yourself in there. And the dessert you nipped from Hermione.”

***

The bath did little to relax her, and Narcissa felt tenser than ever by Saturday. She had no time to oversee Granger’s preparations and could only hope the party wouldn’t be an utter disaster.

As guests started arriving, she was pleasantly surprised. Everything was running smoothly―so far. Narcissa wouldn’t offer praise just yet, not until it was over. She’d seen too many events implode from mistakes or negligence to be that optimistic.

She enjoyed a bit of champagne, watching guests chatter and point at the intimidating hedge maze on the far right side of the yard, the small but adequate lake to the left, and the wide open dragon arena front and center, enclosed by an enchanted chain-link fence. The dragon hadn’t yet arrived, and the excitement was palpable.

Her ex-husband arrived late, and she studiously ignored him. Unfortunately, he sought her out.

“Lucius,” she greeted him coldly.

“This is quite a... dramatic extravaganza you’ve put together,” Lucius said, though it didn’t sound like a compliment.

Narcissa glared at him. “I wanted our son to have an amazing, memorable birthday now that the Dark Lord is gone for good.”

Draco approached while she was speaking and stood beside her in support. “Father.”

“Draco. You’re looking well. How are you?”

“Fine.”

Lucius gestured at the festivities. “Narcissa, our son is too old for themed birthday parties.”

“One is _never_ too old for themed birthday parties. Isn’t that right, Draco?”

“Of course, Mother. I love it. I’ve always wanted a guaranteed victory in a discount Triwizard Tournament.”

“You see?” Narcissa said smugly to Lucius. “Draco loves it.”

Lucius wrapped his arm around Draco’s shoulders, walking away with him. “I know you want to please her, but you’re an adult now. You should focus on serious things. Why are you still dabbling in fashion like your mother?”

Draco hunched his shoulders, looking cowed. “I really do like fashion, Father.”

“No, you need a real career, something influential...”

They drifted out of earshot. Narcissa clenched her fists, tempted to interrupt. Draco should pursue whatever career he wanted. And she didn’t _dabble_. Her magazine earned millions of galleons a year before the war, and she’d worked hard to bring it back to full strength since then. But apparently Lucius had _never_ respected her vocation, believing her job was something he “let” her do as a hobby. Her blood boiled just remembering that revelation.

Granger came running up to her. “Narcissa, don’t get mad.”

“I have every right to be mad,” Narcissa growled before she realized this was an entirely different problem.

“I can fix this!” Granger assured her. “The dragon will be a few hours late, but we can do the other events first. The hedge maze is ready. I can finish the lake preparations once we know who the other contestants are.”

“I knew something would go wrong,” Narcissa complained. “At least it’s a minor issue. Bring me the Goblet of Fire and we’ll get started.”

All of the guests who wished to participate in the tournament had placed their names into the Goblet, which was of course rigged to ensure Draco’s name was one of three to be drawn.

Draco did perfectly in the maze, making it to the center before all the others. Narcissa cheered loudly until Andromeda approached her and gestured to Teddy in his outdoor playpen.

“Will you watch him for me?” Andromeda asked. “It’s a wonderful party, but I’m too tired to really enjoy it.”

“I can watch him,” Narcissa agreed, frowning as her sister went back into the house and wondering why she didn’t get more sleep before such a big day.

Draco unfortunately came in second place on the lake task, surfacing with Pansy in his arms a full minute too slow. But Narcissa was pleased to see him getting along with the first place contestant, a handsome wizard from a good family. The two sat together chatting while everyone waited for the dragon’s much-anticipated arrival.

Narcissa watched them from behind a cedar tree, hidden by its branches, trying to be subtle so she wouldn’t interrupt her son’s conversation. They seemed to be getting closer. Draco looked relaxed, smiling, and their knees brushed as the other wizard shifted to turn toward him. Narcissa clutched her hands together, hoping Draco would actually make a move this time. She kept trying to find suitable options for him, yet he was frustratingly timid.

“Narcissa?” Granger’s voice right behind her made her jump.

“Don’t you have some party preparations to do?” Narcissa asked, attention returning to Draco. She didn’t want to miss a moment.

“You know how you didn’t like Draco snooping to hear about his party?” Granger asked.

“Hmm?”

“I wonder where he gets it from.”

“Mm. Probably from his great aunt. She never could mind her own business,” Narcissa said, craning her neck to see better past a large branch.

“That must be it,” Granger said. “You ought to stop lurking, though. The dragon is about to land.”

“I’m not _lurking_ ,” Narcissa protested, though she followed Granger back to the crowd and stood by Teddy’s playpen.

Everyone watched in awe as a suitably large Common Welsh Green swooped down and landed in the enclosure, escorted by one of the Weasleys and that half-giant oaf Hagrid flying on brooms. They shackled the dragon to a long chain anchored in the ground, then came over to talk. Hagrid was carrying a live goat in his arms, presumably for feeding the dragon. Narcissa shuddered.

“Sorry we’re late, Hermione,” the Weasley said. “Do you like the dragon we found?”

“It’s fantastic, Charlie. Well done,” Granger said with a bright smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s adequate,” Narcissa said. “A tad on the small side. But when my son is in there, both of you _must_ stay close to him. If that dragon so much as singes a hair on his head, I’ll ruin you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hagrid agreed. The goat looked up and started chewing on his beard.

“Yeah, yeah, we won’t let your brat die,” Charlie said.

“Be careful, all of you,” Granger said. “I’d better go round up the Blast-Ended Skrewts in the maze, but I’ll see you later.”

In the dragon arena, the first two contestants were uninspired. One summoned a broom, copying what Potter had done, darting around the dragon’s legs to grab the false golden egg. The second tried to use offensive spells and stun the dragon, but he failed. Its hide was too thick and it only got angrier.

Her son, of course, had a brilliant idea. With ingredients from the forest and his exceptional potions skills, Draco brewed a powerful sleeping draught and slathered it over the goat’s fur, then tethered the goat in the enclosure.

“’At was s’posed ter be a snack fer afterwards,” Hagrid said as he lumbered away to guard Draco in case something went wrong.

Narcissa grimaced, preferring not to think about it.

Teddy grinned in delight when he spotted the goat. Their lessons hadn’t yet taught the sign for it, but he made one up with fingers like horns on his head, then added, “ _Love!_ ”

Narcissa smiled and repeated it back to him in acknowledgment. It was unfortunate that Draco had chosen this way to overcome the dragon, but she could at least prevent Teddy from seeing it. She cast a quick charm to slide a table between his playpen and the goat, blocking his view of the upcoming carnage.

The dragon wandered around the enclosure until it caught a whiff of the goat’s scent and started following it hungrily. Oblivious, the goat tested its tether and ate leaves from the surrounding shrubs. Draco stayed hidden far away under guard, waiting for the dragon to eat the drugged meal.

Narcissa glanced down again to make sure Teddy couldn’t see, then did a double take. He was gone. “Where is Teddy?!” she asked. The people around her shrugged, unsure, but she had a sinking feeling in her gut and _knew_ something was wrong.

Someone exclaimed, “There, at the fence!”

Though it seemed improbable that Teddy could get there so quickly, there he was, standing on wobbly legs and staring at the goat through the enchanted chain-link fence.

“Salazar help me, he’s going to be scarred for life,” Narcissa muttered, hurrying toward him.

The dragon took its time stalking closer, eyeing the goat hungrily. Narcissa thought perhaps she could reach Teddy before the main event, but a perfect baby-sized hole appeared in the fence, melting under his tiny hands, and he toddled through.

The crowd gasped. “TEDDY!” a dozen people screamed at once. They were all socialites; none of them knew how to stop a dragon. Weasley and the oaf came running from all the way across the enclosure.

Narcissa fired flares and sparks toward Teddy, a foolproof way to catch his attention. He deliberately ignored them, fixated on the goat. When he reached it, he hugged its leg and rested his cheek against its strong shoulder. The goat turned and nibbled on his blue hair. Teddy giggled.

The dragon’s tongue flickered out, tasting the air. A live dragon at a birthday party. Narcissa regretted everything.

The goat finally noticed the approaching predator and squealed in alarm, breaking its tether and racing away. Teddy squealed in delight, stretching out his arms as if the dragon would pick him up. Narcissa fell to her knees, uselessly clutching the fence in horror when the dragon lowered its head and sniffed the tiny boy. Teddy hugged its massive jaw. The dragon’s cat-like eyes narrowed to slits and a growl rumbled in its throat, long fangs dripping with saliva, smoke pouring out of its nostrils as it prepared to breathe fire.

Charlie Weasley finally got close enough to be of some use and cast immobilization charms on the dragon’s shackles. “All together now, _stupefy_ on three!”

“E’ryone ready yer wands!” the half giant alongside him called to the crowd. “One, two...”

Narcissa and all of the partygoers raised their wands. On three, everyone fired stunning charms. The dragon swayed, eyes dull, and collapsed onto its side, great belly rising and falling in calm, unconscious breaths.

“ _Naptime_ ,” Teddy said. He patted the dragon gently. “ _Goodnight_.”

***

“Can you explain to me,” Narcissa said with cold fury, “why there was only one flimsy fence between my great-nephew and a deadly magical creature?” She was too upset to sit, so she paced back and forth in her office, finally getting a chance to yell at Granger after a weekend of chaos.

“A very durable fence! It was even fireproof!” Granger defended. “Charlie visited in advance to cast all sorts of spells on it to keep the dragon secure.”

“So how did a _baby_ get through?”

“Underage magic is unpredictable,” Granger said. “No one knew he could do that! It was an accident.”

“An _accident_ ,” Narcissa repeated, turning away. She gripped one of the racks of dresses to consider for the next shoot. “Misplacing one’s wand is an accident. Tearing a run in one’s hose is an accident. But this... this was criminal negligence, or even attempted involuntary manslaughter.”

“How can it be both ‘attempted’ and ‘involuntary’?” Granger groused. “You’re being ridiculous. You could just as easily blame his playpen for not keeping him contained, or yourself for not keeping a closer eye on him.”

“Blame _myself?_ ” Narcissa echoed. “Utterly preposterous. He would have been safe if not for the dragon, and there was one person in charge of those safety precautions: _you_.”

Her assistant flinched, looking suitably guilty now.

“I have been very patient with you,” Narcissa said, voice low. “I took a chance on you despite your ignorance and forgave all of your mistakes when you began. But Teddy was nearly _eaten alive_ , and on top of that I now have a goat to care for because he _insisted_ on keeping it!”

Granger squeezed her eyes shut. “Please don’t fire me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Strictly speaking, no...” Narcissa moved to another rack of dresses and perused them, muttering, “I knew I shouldn’t have chosen a mudblood.”

“You aren’t allowed to call me that,” Granger informed her. “Human Resources has a policy.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. HR could threaten her salary and benefits, but she was a Slytherin. Finding loopholes was her specialty. “I wasn’t referring to you,” she corrected. “It’s a new color.”

Granger stared at her. “Excuse me?”

Narcissa rifled through the dresses to find one she remembered having an unusual shade of rust red. It was gorgeous, but sacrifices must be made. “This uniquely hideous hue needed a name so I could describe it to designers and tell them not to create anything like it.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Granger said, looking angrier by the second.

Narcissa spotted her son talking to Pansy outside the office. “Draco?” she called. When he came in, she displayed the dress and asked, “What do you think of this new color? I call it mudblood.”

Draco caught the venomous tone of her voice and said, “Horrible.” He held out the material to catch the light. “Like beaver and burnt umber accidentally crossbred and tossed their offspring in a puddle.” Draco’s malicious sneer was adorable. “You’re familiar with beaver, right? A shade of brown named after that animal with the large front teeth.”

Granger stamped her foot. “You had to _ferret_ around in rubbish from six years ago to come up with that insult.”

Draco shrugged and sauntered out of the office.

“This is harassment!” Granger fumed.

“This is fashion,” Narcissa replied. “If you can’t take the heat, get off the ironing board.”

“You’re going to regret this.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “Will I? Do your worst.”

Rather than starting a fight, Granger simply marched out of the office. Some Gryffindor. Narcissa’s fingers tightened on the dress hanger. No one walked away from her before she was done with them.

“Dobby!”

Granger stormed back in, growling, “Oh, and I’m not your house elf! My name is Hermione. Her-MY-uh-nee. Learn how to say it or you’ll be left wondering why no one has brought your precious tea yet!”

“Oh, I know how to say it. Your name is Greek, is it not?” Narcissa shot back, shifting into _Hermione’s_ personal space to intimidate her. She lowered her voice and taunted, “Ehr-mee-OH-nee.”

Hermione shivered. “Yes, that... also works,” she croaked, swallowing hard.

“Bring these clothes to the Wardrobe, Ermióni,” Narcissa said, unable to resist eliciting another little shiver. “Everything except this mudblood dress. Throw that one in the rubbish bin.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she took the dress. “Yes, Narcissa,” she said through clenched teeth.

Narcissa inclined her head, satisfied that her assistant knew who was in charge, even if she didn’t like it.


	5. In which Hermione Oversteps. Repeatedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long and isn't very long. But I have not abandoned you \o/ Thank you for not giving up hope, and here's the next chapter.

Hermione did not fold as easily as Narcissa assumed. 

Narcissa leaned her elbow on her desk, stroking her lip with her thumb thoughtfully. She watched Hermione in the outer office hastily gathering parchments and fabric samples. Over the last four weeks since Draco’s birthday fiasco, her assistant had been executing her duties flawlessly in almost every regard. At first it seemed like obedience, but every time their eyes met, Narcissa caught the anger in them.

Yes, Hermione was becoming very, very good at her job―not out of pride, but out of spite.

Naturally, Narcissa returned this spite in full. Hermione’s perfectionism could only do so much when limited by a lack of fashion knowledge.

A cold war began.

***

“First you need to attend the meeting with Vivienne at noon,” Hermione informed her. “I’ve already drafted a plan for her team based on what you needed last time.”

Narcissa took the plan and glanced over it. An accurate estimate. It crumpled slightly in her hand as her fingers clenched. She smoothed the paper before handing it back. “Tolerable,” she allowed.

She listened to the rest of her daily schedule, then sent Hermione with deliberately vague instructions to procure resources for their design team. When Hermione returned later with the materials, Narcissa picked through them, relishing in her assistant’s mistakes and tossing each offending item to the floor just to make her pick them up. Rather than bowing down, Hermione summoned them all with her wand, never even breaking eye contact. 

Disappointing. Narcissa supposed next time she could always try dropping some expensive haute couture next time, which was always enchanted with anti-summoning charms for theft protection. No, no, too petty. She had limits.

***

Another day, Hermione dared to interfere in the scolding of an incompetent delivery man.

“I’m sorry,” the wizard apologized, quaking in his shoes. “You said you wanted the muslin here ‘yesterday.’ I didn’t think there was a  _ reason _ everyone avoids the forest shortcut.”

“And because you weren’t thinking, the pixie swarm unraveled  _ everything _ . Do you realize what a catastrophic loss this is?” Narcissa said, voice cutting without any need to raise it.

The delivery man looked ready to cry.

Hermione stepped into the office to hand over some samples and said comfortingly, “I’m sure you were doing your best and can learn―”

Narcissa silenced her with a death glare and plucked a quill pen from its holder. She wrote  _ Demoted to seam-ripping duty, due to utter stupidity _ on a slip of parchment and charmed it to stick to the delivery man’s shirt. “Leave my sight.”

As he ran out, Hermione said, “That seemed a little extra.”

“At least I didn’t use a pushpin this time,” Narcissa replied. 

“ _ This time _ ,” Hermione echoed in disbelief.

“Ermióni, fetch the perfume that smelled nice from that shop we passed yesterday.”

Her assistant rolled her eyes. “Give me more to go on than that. There are  _ hundreds _ of perfumes in there; you can’t possibly expect me to―”

“Hasn’t that irritating habit of asking questions been ironed out of you yet?”

“I didn’t ask a question,” Hermione retorted.

Narcissa was speechless for a full three seconds, taken aback by Hermione’s sheer gall.  _ Nobody _ spoke to her like this.

***

“Then why do you let  _ her _ speak to you that way?” Andromeda drawled during dinner. As usual, both sisters did their best to sign while speaking, for Teddy’s sake. “To be perfectly honest, I’m shocked you haven’t fired her in a fit of pettiness yet.”

Narcissa ignored her own inner voice wondering the same thing. “I am not petty,” she objected.

“Mhm. Never in your life.”

“I will continue to be patient and unflappable; she’ll fall in line eventually.” 

Cloven hooves tapped quietly across the wooden floor behind them. The two witches turned around, and Teddy followed their eyes to see the goat enter the dining room. Teddy screeched and babbled excitedly.

“Why is that beast in here!” Narcissa tossed her napkin on the table and stood up.

The goat darted closer to Teddy and received enthusiastic though rather ineffective scratches behind its ears. It ducked its head under Teddy’s arm to reach Narcissa’s plate, testing the food with its lips before stealing a whole chunk of butternut squash.

“Shoo! Get out!” Narcissa exclaimed, waving it away while Andromeda and Teddy laughed. The goat simply scooted around to the other side of the chair. Narcissa sighed and wrapped her hand around the hideous beige collar her sister had purchased for it. “Come on, goat.”

“She needs a name,” Andromeda said.

“I suppose,” Narcissa agreed, looking down her nose at it.

“ _ Dragon _ ,” Teddy declared.

“You want to name the goat ‘Dragon’?” Narcissa covered her eyes. “You have no idea that one nearly ate you.”

Andromeda was grinning. “You must admit it’s a cute name.”

Narcissa turned to her. “And  _ you _ seem far too unconcerned about that entire incident. Do you even care?”

“Of course I care!” Andromeda replied. “Not all of us have the energy to get worked up over something that didn’t come to pass.”

“If you had seen it, you would feel the same panic I do at the mere thought of that dragon. But you weren’t there. The first opportunity you’ve ever had to attend your nephew’s birthday, and you left early. How do you think Draco felt?”

“I’m sorry.” Her sister shook her head. “Here, sit back down and finish your dinner. Let me take Dragon back outside.” Andromeda took hold of the collar and rested an affectionate hand on the goat’s back, fingers buried in the black and tan fur or hair or whatever in Salazar’s name that irritating creature was covered in.

***

A week later, Hermione stormed in, her expression a mixture of anger and exasperation. “You are such―” She waved a list in the air. “I finished my task list last night. After ‘Deliver Scroll’ it said to ‘Feed Dragon’!” 

“Well, did you feed her?” Narcissa asked, steepling her fingers on the desk.

“Yes, no thanks to you! You should have―I don’t know― _ specified _ that it’s referring to a goat! I was wandering around in the yard looking for a  _ literal dragon _ until Andromeda saw me out the window and took pity on me.”

Narcissa covered her mouth and tried to feign a thoughtful expression. It took great strength of will to stop herself from laughing. She so enjoyed having a little fun at Hermione’s expense. Just a little, because Narcissa was not petty.

A loud sneeze disturbed the peace of the office. Narcissa glared in its general direction. “Dobby?”

Pansy came into the office with slow, sheepish steps. Green smoke rose from her ears.

“No,” Narcissa said. “What is this?  _ No _ . Get out of here before you spread any of those Sneezing Smog-ear germs.”

“Yes, Narcissa,” Pansy said obediently, shuffling out of the room.

“Why people even bother coming into work when they could get me sick, I’ll never know,” Narcissa muttered.

Hermione replied, “It could be because they get penalized for taking sick days―”

“I don’t require smart-mouthed replies to my rhetorical statements, Érmioni. In any case, since Pansy had the audacity to get sick on such an important night, you will be accompanying me to tonight’s benefit to inform me of everyone’s names.”

Hermione’s face turned a strange color. “Oh, no. But I already... I thought you weren’t going.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Oh, no,” her assistant groaned again. “When you change your mind on a whim, it makes it very hard for me to plan for you―”

“A ‘whim’ implies there wasn’t a specific reason, which there was. Now, somewhere on Pansy’s desk there should be the scroll of names and faces of everyone whom I should be able to recognize there.”

Hermione found the scroll and started unrolling it as she returned to Narcissa’s desk. “Merlin’s beard... I have to learn all of this―by tonight?”

“This is the sort of thing at which you excel, isn’t it? Memorization?” Narcissa asked, tired of all the protesting.

“Memorizing _facts_ , not _faces_!” Hermione complained, shaking the heavy scroll. “And I need to tell you―”

“Tell Suitor #15 to pick me up at 7 p.m. tonight for the charity show.”

Hermione cringed. “I’m sorry, Narcissa! I already rejected him.”

Narcissa frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m sorry! It’s just, from his letter I could tell the date didn’t go well, and he’s obviously not right for you, and you already had me reject the last three, and as your assistant I’m supposed to anticipate your needs...”

“Not right for me?” Narcissa asked incredulously. “What kind of arrogant, presumptuous girl thinks she can make decisions about her boss’s love life?” She possessed those qualities herself and admired them, really, but this particular occasion was highly inconvenient. “Am I supposed to show up single to this event? I can see the news articles already:  _ Divorced and difficult-to-love editor-in-chief drives away yet another suitor. Will wizards give up on wooing this cold, snooty witch? Stay tuned _ .”

“I can fix this!” Hermione said frantically. “I’ll tell him it was my fault, just a misunderstanding, and you really do want to date him―”

“And make him mad when he gets rejected after all? I only need him for tonight.” She wanted to rest her head in her hands, but that would show weakness. Instead, she glared. “I don’t have time to acquire another suitable bachelor. If you’re such an expert on my romantic interests, go select someone I can take with me tonight.”

The dismissal should’ve been clear, but Hermione remained standing there for several more seconds. So much for anticipating needs. If Narcissa had to explicitly tell employees when she was done giving orders, it meant they weren’t paying enough attention. 

She sighed. “That’s a―” 

“I could be your date,” Hermione blurted out.

Narcissa stared in shock for a full five seconds this time. She knew Hermione was audacious, but this really took the cake. A fashion icon couldn’t be seen bringing a personal assistant as her date to a public event. “Have you lost your mind?” she snapped. “Select someone  _ suitable _ .”

Head bowed, Hermione scurried out of the office.

Narcissa rested her elbows on the desk and massaged her temples. What a ridiculous idea. The things people would say! They’d assume it was involuntary, which wouldn’t reflect well on her desirability. She could even get charged with sexual harassment. If it weren’t so serious, that would be laughable. She wasn’t even remotely interested in the young witch. At all.

At the end of the day, Narcissa cleared her desk and headed out of the office, pausing to loom over her second assistant’s desk. “Well?” she asked. “Whom have you selected?”

Hermione looked up in panic. “No one is available tonight. I’m still waiting on a few owls, long shots, but there’s a chance. Or I could go around knocking on―”

Narcissa cut her off with a wave of her hand. Looking desperate was worse than any alternative. “Go downstairs and let Draco dress you. I hope you’re better at memorizing names than you are at making judgment calls.”


End file.
